Soldiers of Ice (33 page)

“Be careful, Vil. Vreesar’s up there somewhere,” Martine said softly.

“You too, Martine,’ he said with unmistakable concern.

“You sure you don’t need help?”

“Krote’s only one gnoll. You’ll need every available gnome. Don’t worry about me.”

‘Tm—I’m only afraid I’ll never see you again,” the big man said awkwardly.

“They’re coming, Master Vilheim!” the Vani lookout

cried.

“Go, Martine—and let the blessed gods go with you.”

The former paladin turned his back to her as if he welcomed the interruption, so Martine left him to his command, feeling touched by the man’s sudden concern.

Martine limped through the dim halls, wary because of the chance the gnolls might break through the defenders.

The distant noise of baffle mingled with fainter sounds—a baby crying, a confused murmur of voices. The normally warm warren was cold, the warmth lost to the night air through shattered doors.

At last she reached Krote’s pen, and she gave small thanks to Tymora. She had secretly feared that one of the Vani—Jouka, perhaps—might have taken it upon himself to rid the valley of one More gnoll, but that apparently had not happened.

“WordMaker!” she called into the pen. “Come out here.”

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The mound of matted straw at the back stirred, and a pair of feral eyes glinted in the dim light. “My brothers come. Is true, human?”

The woman undid the lock and quickly stepped back, her sword held ready. The lanky gnoll eased slowly from the pen, stiffly unworking his cramped joints, even though the ceiling was too low for the seven-foot tall shaman to stand straight.

Martine motioned him to start down the passage. “I don’t want to kill you, WordMaker, but I will if I you force me to.

Do I have your word you won’t attack?” The question was almost a demand.

Krote stopped his canine stretching to look at the Harper and then ask with silken cynicism, “Why should I believe your words? You said you would free me.”

“I will.”

‘qhrhy?’

Martine tossed back her stringy, short hair. “Because you’re the WordMaker and you believe in your words—don’t you?”

Krote stood silent, ears twitching to the echoes that rolled down the corridor. “I give you my word, human. I will not attack. My people will kill me anyway.”

“Good enough. Now goquickiy.”

They hurried down the corridor, gradually increasing their speed to an easy lope. They moved through the dark passages toward the nervous din of the Vani. The hallways were deserted, not surprising considering the battle that raged through the underground halls, but it felt strange nonetheless.

Finally they reached the granary Jouka had chosen. The last of the refugees were just arriving. The way quickly became jammed with cloaked older Vani women, young

wives cradling their newborns in swaddling, and children clinging to their mothers’ skirts. The council elders, too old 258

The Harlers

to fight but carrying canes and swords, were directing the last preparations for escape, urging families to hurry as they finished bundling packs of food and blankets. Hostile eyes followed the gnoll, an enemy in their midst.

“Martine!’ a deep bass rumbled from the hallway. It was Vil, with the last of the rear guard, sprinting down the hall.

The gnomes of his command slipped into the room and immediately struggled to slip into the few remaining supply packs already prepared, all the while keeping an eye on the corridor.

“Now what?” Vil asked.

“We hope Jazrac can cast the spells needed to get us out of here.”

“You don’t know?” virs face suddenly creased with concern.

“I thought you had this planned.”

“Almost. We just need a little luck.” With that, the Harper pushed her way through the crowd, peering over their heads for Jazrac’s tall form. At last she found him, looking somewhat confused.

Martine was shocked to see the normally resplendent wizard, a man who valued immaculate grooming as much as his spells, looking so haggard. His lean face sagged; his eyes made hollow depressions underscored by gray bags.

Even the carefully groomed goatee that Jazrac could almost use like another finger jutted soullessly downward.

“Jazrac, over here!” She raised her hand high above the milling crowd. The wizard stumbled over to where she stood near the outside wall. He’d clearly slept no More than she had, though he lacked the energy the surge of battle had renewed in her.

‘srhat are we doing here? Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

the wizard asked in confusion.

”We are. I have an important question to ask you. When you sneaked back into our room after the raid, you used a spell, right?”

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259

Pain crossed the wizard’s face. ‘`yes… a passwall spell.”

“Can you cast it right here and now?” The Harper pointed toward the nearby outside wall.

“As a matter of fact, I have memorized it again. But wh “

y—

“Just do it! We don’t have time to talk,” Martine blurted with relief. “Just open a passage to the outside and get these people out of here!”

The wizard’s worn expression brightened slightly. “I am, as you have reminded me, a senior Harper.”

“Jazrac, you don’t have to playact for me.”

“Perhaps I can atone, if only in part, for past sins ….

Please stand back, everyone.”

As Martine helped to clear a space around the wizard, Jazrac straightened his clothing. Then, his hands stroking the wall, the wizard uttered a series of garbled phrases. As he spoke, the wooden wall seemed to evaporate like water.

Then the dirt, and finally a layer of snow, all faded into nothing.

A hallway, broad by gnome standards, had been cut

straight through the hillside. The howl of wind and a blasl of cold air proved it was not an illusion.

“It won’t stay open for long,” the wizard said urgently.

“Jouka! Will” Martine shouted. “Guide everyone to the cabin.’

With a calmness bred by fear, the gnomes formed intc lines and hurriedly filed through the magical passage toward the storm that raged outside.

Sixteen

The granary was empty except for

Martine, Jazrac, and a handful of Vani

who had volunteered to cover the

retreat. They’d already barred the door

with barrels of supplies and bags of

flour. Martine knew the barrier couldn’t

hold up to Vreesar’s icy blasts, but she

had no doubt it would slow down the Burnt Fur. At their backs, snow blew into the room through Jazrac’s magical passageway.

“Get going, Jazrac. Use your ring to go and get More help,” Martine said once she was satisfied that everyone else was gone. “We’ll cover you.”

“I’m staying with you.”

Martine grimaced. “Look, this could get bloody. I don’t need any fake heroics now. Besides, we need you to go back to Shadowdale and get help dealing with Vreesar.”

“That can wait. Vreesar is here right now, and I don’t think he’ll leave until he’s done with us all. Like you, my dear, I choose my troubles,” Jazrac said with his old confi-260

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261

dence. “I’m not running away this time. You need me.” He pushed her up the magical passage. “If we don’t get moving now, we’ll all be trapped.”

Martine threw her hands up in despair. “Fine. Play hero then.” She turned to face the Vani. “It’s time to leave, everybody!”

The gnomes quickly scurried up the hall Jazrac had

parted through the hillside.

As the wizard followed the little warriors, Martine said, “I appreciate your offer, Jazrac, but do me a favor. Be careful out there.”

Jazrac struck an attitude of mock pride, with one hand pressed to his chest. “Me? I shall be in no danger, my dear.

I am still quite capable of taking on a few ignorant gnolls.”

Martine had to smile at the wizard’s display of confidence.

“Just don’t get carried away—for old friendship’s

sake, okay?”

“For… old friendship’s sake.” The wizard savored the words like a Chessentian wine merchant before giving his grandest bow and departing. Martine wistfully watched him go up the passage. She was surprised to realize she still felt some respect for the man. After one last check of the storeroom, she, too, hurried up the passage.

Jazrac’s spell had opened a route cleanly through to the outside, where the storm still raged, its fury unabated. The trampled path of the refugees was already half drifted over.

Martine paused.

“Do we follow the others?” shouted Ojakangas, her sec-ond-in-command, pointing to the trail.

Martine shook her head. “Not yet. There’s a rope in my pack. Get it out.” She stooped to allow Ojakangas to reach inside and draw out the looped coils. Taking the rope, the ranger passed the length along to each warrior. ‘Hang on to it,” she said, “so you don’t get lost.” With that, she drew her sword, ready for the fight she knew would come.

“I’ll go ahead. When you feel a pull, follow me and stay 262

The Harpers

close!” Without wasting any More precious seconds, she plunged into storm, feeding out line as she went.

Without skis, the Harper blundered through the snow, stumbling in the footprints made by those who had passed through previously. At last she reached the end of the rope and tugged to signal the others forward. After several minutes, the rest of the rear guard had all joined her. “Any sign of the gnolls?” she asked Ojakangas.

“None.”

‘q’he gods must still like us a little bit,” the Harper said with a frozen grin.

“Indeed. Thanks be to the Great Crafter,” answered the black-bearded Vani.

Three times the group repeated the procedure. Each

time, Ojakangas reported no sign of pursuit. Then the storm stopped with eerie suddenness. At first Martine thought she had finally reached the blizzard’s edge, but that wasn’t it. The storm had simply stopped.

“Our escape has been discovered!” Martine called to those behind her. “Come here and find cover!” The gnomes lumbered through the snow to join her. As each arrived, she silently pointed out a position to keep watch. Jazrac she kept close at hand. If the wizard didn’t break again, his spells were her best asset.

“When this is over, you get yourself back to Shadowdale.

Understand?” It was simply too much risk having the wizard out here fighting. They needed him to bring reinforcements.

Jazrac held up his hands. “Don’t worry. I have no desire to do this More than once.”

Hiss… thunk.t An arrow tore at the sleeve of Martine’s parka, spiraling madly into the thick trunk behind her.

There it hummed angrily as the shaft quivered in the wood.

“Down!” she shouted, throwing her shoulder into her companion’s side. She acted instinctively, with no thought Soldiers of !ce

26:

of the man’s dignity. The pair flopped ludicrously into tX snow.

“What in the hells—”

Hiss.t Hiss.t Several More shafts whipped overhead, rigl where they had been standing. One struck the same tre with a solid thwack, while the others clattered off into tX

branches beyond. A gout of snow kicked up as anoth

arrow tunneled into the snowbank beside them.

In a twinkling, Martine tumbled off to one side. She sa Jazrac roll the other way, not a moment before the i(

ground was churned by a fusillade of arrows. No More th, twenty yards distant knelt three lanky gnolls, already dra ing a bead on her.

Eschewing caution, the warrior woman sprang to hz

feet and charged the doglike archers, high-steppin

through the snow as she screamed a war cry. With on hand, she whirled her sword over her head; in the oth{

her knife flashed in the dusky light. She heard the har’

music of a bowstring being released, but the shot we wide. The second and third fired, and Martine gave asta when an arrow hit her gut just below her sternum. Tt metal armor she wore saved her, glancing the rough-forg arrowhead off to the side.

Her seeming invulnerability was enough to shatter tl resolve of the gnolls. The lead archer threw down its be and ran, bolting an instant before her sword swiped throu the air where it had stood. The other two broke rank wi barking yips of terror as the wildly howling woman descend upon them. The tip of her blade carved a long slash throu[

the ragged cloak of one, but the creatures managed

escape. Her battle lust departed with them, leaving her fe ing drained and bewildered.

There was a huffing behind her, and Martine nea

thrust her blade into Jazrac’s stomach before she realiz who it was. “Hold!” the man cried. “Save it for the gnoll 264

The Harpers

Pushing her aside, the wizard traced a figure in the air, and from his fingers leapt a series of sparkling motes of light.

They rocketed toward the knolls, sizzling the air as they went. Two struck the nearest dog-man in the back, spewing out gouts of blood as if it had been struck by arrows. Two More struck the second, reeling it around in a circle, but the creature staggered on. The last dodged and darted through a stand of saplings to strike the third full in the face just as it turned to fire another shot. The beast howled and dropped its bow, fingers clutching blindly at its shattered muzzle.

“Jazrac, get back!” Martine blurted, her battle instincts alerted by the sound of sprinting footsteps through snow.

In a single move, she spun to face a charging gnol[, little More than a shadow against the snow. With one arm, she thrust out in a long lunge while her body ducked low beneath the creature’s high swing. Thwack! The dog-man’s blade hewed into wood, hacking splinters from the tree trunk beside the wizard’s head. The Harper’s sword drove into the beast’s chest, and the gnoll’s momentum almost toppled her before the blade slithered through its ribs.

The gnoll’s muzzle dropped open to show a ranged maw.

There was a gurgling hiss as the flopping body slid down the length of her blade. Even impaled clear through, the creature wasn’t finished. One scabrous arm, reeking like sewage, swung out awkwardly for her, clipping the woman in the side of her helmet. Thick claws gouged futilely at the met21.